


Musings of a Hunter

by Karini



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: #DAIMP character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 06:06:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4380107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karini/pseuds/Karini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hunter from MP goes to Skyhold for the first time to report the outcome of his party's latest mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Musings of a Hunter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gethbecomesher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gethbecomesher/gifts).



A disgusted scoff, a pointed look, and they were bickering again. 

He had hoped the peace that comfortably settled amongst his traveling companions would remain for the duration of the trip back to Skyhold’s base camp, but restless tongues and weary hearts could never be snuffed for long. 

What was it this time? A snark remark about the mission? The Inquisition? Each other? He found he didn’t care enough this time and broke away from the group’s pace, having spotted the last landmark watchtower that signaled they were close to Skyhold. He crested a snowdrift and the rows upon rows of tents that scattered across the tundra and frozen lake at the base of Skyhold came into view. It was close to dusk but the base camp was always alive, ready and waiting.

He took a moment to take it all in and truly it was a sight to behold. Someone in that fortress that rested upon the horizon had command of this army. That fledgling organization back at Haven was now a shadow of what the Inquisition had become. In all his years as a soldier serving under several commands, he would never have thought something so… extraordinary could come from the organization that struggled to rally Chantry support back in its early stages. Now, merchants, nobles, and a smatter of agents from all four corners of Thedas (himself included) were at the beck and call of the Inquisitor.

A group of scouts nodded at him in passing as they made their way out of camp. A late mission, he mused. The clockwork of the inquisition ticked on. 

He reported in with a guard at the tower and trudged his way through camp to his tent. He laid out his bow and kit on his bedroll and stared at them for a long while—staring and taking them in, and then staring but not looking.

He was tired. He had been a soldier for a long time.

He remembered similar days like this, gazing at his bow and telling himself, “After this one, I’m out.” He’d get a nice cottage, a loyal pup, and spend his days tending to a humble vegetable garden. Maybe even plant some flowers. Orchids were pretty nice.

Why didn’t he listen to himself? 

Instincts perhaps? The will to live? With the Breach in the sky, The Inquisition was either the safest or most dangerous place to be. Nevertheless, he did not regret enlisting. There were only so many disguises he could don to evade demons, rebel mages, and red templars. It was easier this way. Less fuss, less hassle. 

A commotion stirred outside. He peaked through the flaps of his tent to see a scout amble toward his camp’s fire pit where a few had gathered to prepare a rationed supper. Then, he heard the news.

Empress Celene had been murdered, killed in front of all those gathered at the Winter Palace. Apparently it was quite the spectacle and the Inquisitor was in the middle of it all. 

The scout had heard the nobles in the great hall gossip furiously about it and was now paraphrasing their scandalized blather with an overly pompous Orlesian accent. 

Listening to the scout made him glad his years serving Orlais rarely burdened him to be in the same room with nobles. He’d interacted with wealthy merchants before, but even then he strained to keep his composure around them.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered what would have happened if he had stayed in Orlais. When Gaspard takes over, it will not be bloodless. He would raze the ranks and structure of the whole Orlesian army. 

He frowned. He had fought on the side of the Empress, made contacts, acquaintances, and even friends. Surely those that remained in the capital were all going to be sent to the gallows and hanged by the next month. Pity. They were good men and women.

“You live yet another day, you old man.” He thought to himself and chuckled, shaking his head. Of all the times he had saved himself from certain death because of his quick thinking and unusual wit, this time his life was spared by something out of his control. 

“What’s so funny?” came a voice to the side of him. The bickering group had made it back to camp as well and it seemed they had hashed it out.

“Glad you’re alive after that mission?”

“Or after that ham last night?”

He grinned and turned his gaze toward the fortress that embraced the sky. “Ah, it’s nothing.”

The lot he was tasked with was not a bad bunch. They were the most diverse company he’s had in quite some time. He stayed out of their arguments but replied when spoken to. 

He was actually surprised when Leliana assigned him to a group. He was far more efficient going about on his own and preferred it that way. Not because he didn’t trust working with others, but he didn’t really trust himself. He had hoped after his stint in the Orlesian army he’d be able to retire, knowing his age and his diminishing senses will soon overcome his usefulness. He didn’t want his folly to become a liability. It was much easier to just look out for only himself. Though, this lot wasn’t so bad—even that she-elf and the necromancer. Their barriers and spells came in handy anyways. 

“Hey Thornton, we’re going up to Herald’s Rest to get some drinks later, will you join us?” 

He grinned. “Yeah.”

He hoped he was fighting on the right side this time.


End file.
